White Roses and Red Rabbits
by ladyknights104
Summary: Sherlock and John come across probably one of their most difficult cases ever, a girl who can't die. Shiro Phantomhive, the girl in question, begs them to help her find out exactly the how and why on this strange phenomenon. They will uncover dark secrets, mysterious clues, and possibly the worst mistake human-kind has ever made with terrible consequences.
1. Act 1: Yesterday I died

**HELLO MY LITTLE KITTENS! This is something to hold me over until season 3 of Sherlock comes out. I also thought of this while watching South Park. I apologize ahead of time but I'm not from Britain, but I'll do my research to the fullest. If there are any British people reading if you see something please point it out to me so that I can fix it. Enjoy!**

Act 1: Yesterday I Died

Sherlock looked upon the woman in front of him intensely, actually wondering if he had misheard her. She was a woman of 23 with pure white hair, tan skin, and red eyes. At first he thought that perhaps she colored her hair but judging from the length of it and it's health that it was her natural color, which was indeed odd. He was slightly surprised by her eye color but red is a natural eye color, albeit very rare. She sat with her arms close to her sides and her legs crossed, indicating that she was a very closed person and wasn't very trusting. That might be due to anxiety, which he can tell by the constant twitch of her right leg and how her nails had been chewed on recently. She wore dark and dull cloths that consisted of a grey fall coat, black jeans and black boots. She probably dresses that way as to not draw attention to herself because she was shunned for her strange appearance. The only color that she wore was a diamond necklace with a single red gemstone in the middle. A present from a lover? No, if she were in a romantic relationship she would have worn much more flattering make up. The make up she wore was simple but very well done, indication a need for perfection. Probably because of something in her past. The necklace was a gift from a relative, perhaps her parents. She had come to Sherlock's and John's flat only 5 minutes ago, obviously a customer. She seemed very nervous, partly because of the anxiety but also like she was going to reveal a big secret. And indeed she had. Sherlock took in a deep breath and looked at John, who seemed to be as confused as he was, before looking back at the woman sitting in the middle of their flat in a chair.

"I beg our pardon Miss, but could you repeat that?" Sherlock asked, quietly (for reasons unknown to him).

The woman took in a deep shaky breath, the twitch in her leg speeding up. "I died yesterday, but for some reason I woke up in own bed this morning." She spoke with a soft voice, but it also had a certain edge to it.

There was another long silence between them all before John cleared his throat and spoke up, his gaze directed at the woman.

"When you say 'died', do you mean metaphorically or...?"

The woman turned her gaze towards John, slightly annoyed. "I mean that I was shot in the heart and just woke up in my bed!"

Again, another tense moment of silence.

"Are you sure that you weren't taken to a hospital and don't-"

The woman slammed her fist on the arm of the chair, making John jump.

"I'm sure of it! Don't bother asking me how I know because I just know! But if you need verification..." She trailed off before leaning back in chair and looking directly at Sherlock. "I think it would be better if I just told you what happened, am I correct?"

Sherlock stared at her intently for a moment before nodding. "Yes, please do."

The woman nodded back at him and looked down at her hands, which she was gripping firmly. "I suppose I should tell you that my name is Shiro, Shiro Phantomhive."

"Shiro..." Sherlock repeated the foreign word quietly, searching his memory for the meaning.

The woman, Shiro, nodded. "Yes, it means white in Japanese."

She smiled sadly at her own hands. "Some people think it's a very pretty name, but honestly I think it's just plain cruel. My parents died when I was just a babe so I was adopted by a wealthy family here in London. But even though I was adopted I still kept in contact with my aunt, my mother's sister. Last year I decided to take some time off from work so I could go and visit her. She lives in America so you can imagine the expenses. I was finally able to acquire the money last month and I took the earliest flight possible to America. I spent a week with her in her flat in Brooklyn before I needed to catch my flight back here. I was only able to get one at night and my aunt gave me instructions on how to get to the airport quicker. Before I had to catch a cab there I decided to stop by a small shop to get something to eat. While I was there a madman came in and started waving his gun around, demanding money. I was so shocked that I dropped my drink and he shot me three times in the chest."

She pressed two fingers to her temple, as if she was developing a migraine. "All I remember is feeling great pain and seeing nothing but darkness. The next thing I know it's morning and I'm in my bed, back in my flat _here._ At first I thought that maybe it was all a dream but then I realized that I was still in my cloths from before. Not just that, but I pulled up a news website for America on the net and it said that a man went and shot 5 people in a shop...one of them was me."

She looked back up at Sherlock and John, a desperate look in her eyes. "Please you have to help me! This isn't the first time it's happened before! When I was younger I...I fell off a swing-set and landed on my neck. I woke up the next day in my bed so I just assumed that I had been knocked out and someone put me to bed but...now I know that I _broke me neck! _No one lives after that! You just need to believe me, please!"

Sherlock stood there and studied her further. As much as he wanted to take this case (if you could even call it that) there was still that nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that what she was telling them was impossible. No one can just come back from the dead like that, let alone twice. It just wasn't logical. Even so...she didn't look like she was lying to them plus she offered evidence. He looked over to John and they locked gazes for a moment before John nodded an went over to his computer. Sherlock listened to the click of the keys as John looked for the supposed evidence that Miss. Phantomhive had offered. she was still looking at him with that desperate look, like a puppy begging for food. But she also looked confident, which Sherlock found odd. That might be because she was telling the truth, which Sherlock was secretly hoping for. It wasn't everyday that something like this came along! If this wasn't just some illusion or conspiracy he might be dealing with something truly mystical here. The very thought of it sent sparks through his veins. The clicking of keys had stopped momentarily, followed by the low mumbling of John before Sherlock really heard him speak.

"Sherlock...you might want to come and see this." John said, a distant sound to his tone.

Sherlock turned towards John and walked over to him, bending over a bit to get a better look at the screen. What he saw actually pleased him slightly. The article had said almost exactly what Shiro had told them. In Brooklyn a crazed man ran into a small shop with a gun and shot 5 people. The website had a picture of the scene and sure enough there was Miss. Phantomhive standing by a counter of key chains, holding an open water-bottle frozen in place. So this meant that Shiro wasn't lying, she really had died. Sure she could have died for a few moments there from the gun shots but she certainly wouldn't have woken up in her own bed here in London, just about 3,000 miles away. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at this, excitement running through him as he stood up straight and walked back over to Miss. Phantomhive.

"I'll take it." He said, a somewhat upbeat tone to it.

Shiro blinked, looking as if she was wondering if she heard him right. "P-Pardon?"

Sherlock sighed a little and rolled his eyes. "I said, Miss. Phantomhive, that I will take your case."

She stared at him for a moment before a wide smile grew across her face. "Really? You'll take my case?"

Before Sherlock could even blink Shiro jumped up from her seat and began violently shaking his hand. "Oh thank you Mr. Holmes, thank you so much! You won't regret it, I just know it!"

She pulled a pen and travelers notebook out of her purse and scribbled down a few things before ripping out the piece of paper and shoving it into Sherlock's hand.

"That's my phone number and address when you need to contact me. Tomorrow morning I have to work so if you need me I'm a waitress at Darlin's Cafe, on the corner of 2nd street."

Miss. Phantomhive looked at her watch. "Oh bugger I really have to get going. But you have my information so contact me when you need to."

And with that she hurried out of the flat and out into the street, hailing a taxi. Sherlock moved to the window to watch her leave before turning to John, a smile on his face.

"Oh god..." John said quietly to himself. "What are you thinking Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed happily and looked back out to the street. "Oh nothing, just that I think I've found one of my best cases yet."

John stared at Sherlock in return, studying his frame before turning his gaze back to his computer and sighing. Well, at least Sherlock will be entertained.

**Well, what do you think? Now there will be a little Johnlock in this story, but more so like it is in the show (heavily implied). So if you don't mind I'd like a little feedback, please? This will be my first Sherlock fanfic so I do apologize if it sucks. Reviews are love! **

**Love and yaoi**

**_~ladyknights104 _**


	2. Act 2: Punched in the face with Evidence

**HELLO MY LITTLE KITTENS! Yep, I'm continuing this story, suck it. I really hope that the summery and title don't completely and utterly suck, I came up with those last minute. Now oddly enough the song that gets me motivated currently is "Super Psycho Love" by Simon Curtis. Probably because I saw it in a Johnlock fanvid. Also for some reason as I'm typing this I'm imagining Sherlock reading them out loud, weird right? I guess I should also explain that I got sick today, which is why I'm here right now. For me when I'm sick I can't just sit there, I need some sort of distraction. Well, enjoy!**

Act 2: Punched in the face with Evidence

Sherlock was laying on the couch staring at the ceiling, thinking deeply. John knew of this, of course, but didn't bother to interfere. He knew that any minute Sherlock would address him in a pondering way, without moving his gaze away from the ceiling. So John just sat there and sipped his tea, waiting. The sun had set about an hour ago and there was only one light on in the flat, giving almost an eerie feeling to it. John couldn't help but observe Sherlock in this moment. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. The only time he even moved was when he blinked, full eyelashes coming in brief contact with that pale skin that almost seemed to glow in the dim light.

"John..."

Ah, there it was. John quickly looked back down to his teacup, pretending that he hadn't been looking at Sherlock before looking back at the man, a steadfast expression evident on his face.

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked, almost as neutral as his expression.

Sherlock paused for a moment before answering.

"That woman, Shiro Phantomhive, do you think her adopted parents named her or her biological?"

Now John was slightly confused. Why would he be inquiring that? Does it matter? John tilted his head to the side, as if contemplating it before shrugging.

"I'm not exactly sure, why do you ask?" John said, taking a drink from his tea.

A small sound came from Sherlock, as if he were slightly amused.

"When Miss. Phantomhive told us the meaning of her name she noted that she thought it was cruel. Now her adoptive parents could have named her but it can take about 20 months to adopt an infant. Although because of her strange appearance they might of thought her to be special needs so depending on that the time can shift. We also have to know when she was adopted, as in her age. She said that her parents died when she was babe so they had to of have her for at least a little while, whether it be for a few days or a few months which is enough time to name her. She could have been born with the red eyes and white hair which are traits of an albino but albinos tend to have lighter skin where her's was distinctly tan. There was no indication of skin damage so she probably didn't sunbathe to get that look."

Sherlock again paused, thinking again before actually turning his gaze towards John.

"What do you think John?"

John took a few seconds to think, not wanting to sound like an idiot. It is quite possible that Miss. Phantomhive's biological parents named her, in fact with adoption that is often the case. The albino part does make some sort of sense, but albinism is extremely rare among animals let alone humans. Although with Miss. Phantomhive's condition it is very possible that she isn't human. But...those things just don't happen. It was impossible! Even though the evidence had stared him in the face he still had his doubts. The only logical explanation was that either this was some sort of elaborate prank or she had some sort of mental condition that affected her judgement or memory comprehension. She might have had scars from the bullet wounds on her chest, but she was covered all the way to her neck and wrists plus...it wouldn't have been decent. Besides if this was a prank Sherlock would have been able to tell, right? John couldn't help but remember back to earlier that day, the excitement that was evident in Sherlock's eyes. Could it be that it was blinding him? He heard Sherlock chuckle, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Indeed this is a very interesting case, my dear Watson. If we want these questions answered we'll have to look more into her history."

Sherlock took out a crumpled piece of paper, the one that Miss. Phantomhive had given him earlier, and gazed at it for a moment before crumpling it up into a ball and throwing it at John. Almost spilling his tea, John was able to catch it. He opened it up and read the information scribbled down on it as Sherlock spoke.

"Tomorrow we're going to we're going to Darlin's Cafe for breakfast." Sherlock stated plainly.

John sighed, knowing the circumstances of this visit. "Of course, Sherlock."

* * *

Sherlock certainly didn't waste any time to getting to Darlin's Cafe the next morning. The morning had a slight chill in it and grey clouds blocked every single ray of sunshine. Darlin's Cafe was small, the inside walls originally yellow but the color has faded over the years and the floor a classic black and white tiling. There were six small tables, each with three chairs that were each made of simple wood. At the far end of the Cafe there was a bar, most likely for serving drinks at late hours, that lead to the kitchen. The only people in it except for the workers was a family of four, two parents and two small children, twin girls. The girls were dressed in uniforms that indicated that they went to Catholic school, or perhaps a school run by a church. Judging by the time the family had decided to stop by here to get a quick bite to eat. The prices were cheap, which anyone could tell by the propped up black board that stood near the booth written in pink and green chalk. At the moment there were only two waitresses, one of them being Miss. Phantomhive. The waitress uniform consisted of a cotton yellow dress shirt and a dark green skirt that went to the knees. Both Miss. Phantomhive and the other waitress wore a black apron with shiny silver name tags. The other waitress was attending the family of four as Shiro was wiping down one of the tables, possibly from an earlier customer. When Sherlock and John walked into the Cafe a small bell chimed, getting Shiro's attention. When she saw them she smiled and walked over to them, her heels clicking on the tile floor. Like before, her makeup was simple but precise. Although instead of her hair being down it was in a side braid that went down to about her stomach.

"I didn't expect you to be here this early." Shiro said in a whisper, probably so that she wouldn't disrupt the other customers.

John was about to answer her but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Well we figured that you would be busy later in the day so we came bright and early to ask you a few questions."

Shiro nodded, understanding what he meant and lead them to a table on the opposite side of the Cafe that the family was at. She took a small pad of paper and a pen, preparing her to write their orders. Must be an instinct of hers, indicating that she has been a waitress for quite a while.

"So what would you two like-"

"I'm not his date!" John said quickly, cutting her off.

She turned her gaze to him, an eyebrow raised. "P-Pardon?"

"I'm not his date, just figured that I should get that out there now so that you don't get the wrong idea."

Shiro stared at him for a few moments before looking at Sherlock, back at John, then back at Sherlock before coughing nervously and looking down at her hands trying to hide her blush.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry I didn't realize the full circumstances! I'll give you two a little time to think!"

Before John could event squeak she turned abruptly and quickly walked into the kitchen, out of sight. John could only sit there frozen as Sherlock sighed, looking through the paper that he had brought with them. Sherlock didn't even have to look over his shoulder to know that the waitress and family were staring at them now. It was silent until the other waitress walked away into the kitchen and Sherlock heard a small voice.

"Mummy, isn't that Mr. Holmes? The detective from the paper?"

Judging by the pitch of the voice it was one of the little girls. He then heard a small shuffle, possibly a coat sleeve being pulled from the grasp of small fingers, before there was mumbling, possibly the child being scolded. He looked back up at John, who was still frozen in shock. Sherlock sighed and turned the page.

"She has a dirty mind, you know." Sherlock said plainly.

It was then that John was broken out of his trance an he looked at Sherlock confused.

"Why do you say that?" John asked, slightly annoyed.

Again, Sherlock sighed. "When we first walked into the Cafe she didn't see us she saw two men, only for her mind to fully comprehend who we are. But before she did she looked interested, as if wondering what we were up to. But when she saw it was us she pushed that thought to the back of her mind thinking that we were here on business. Then, before she even finished one sentence you pointed out the fact that you're not my date but did so in a way that made you seem embarrassed, like you didn't want anyone to know. That gave her the implication that we were indeed on a date causing her mind to wander other places, which is what embarrassed her and caused her to flee the scene."

Sherlock momentarily looked up from his paper. "You really should pay more attention to these things."

John stared at Sherlock for a few seconds before face-palming and groaning. "I won't even ask anymore..."

Sherlock then felt a tap on his shoulder, along with a small voice requesting his attention. He turned and saw the other waitress, who had pale skin, red hair, green eyes, and freckles sprinkled across her nose. Her hair was quite curly and pulled back into a ponytail.

"Um, pardon me but aren't you Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her before looking down at her name tag. Her name was Lena-lee and she looked to around the same age as Miss. Phantomhive. From the the dark bags under her eyes Sherlock was able to decipher that she worked long hours, also she was probably fairly new to this job. She wore no make up but her nails were painted, probably because she doesn't know how to put on make up properly but makes some effort to make herself appealing. Sherlock sighed and looked back to his paper.

"Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

Lena-lee shifted on her stance a little and looked over to the kitchen door just in time to see a few strands of white hair hide from sight of the window.

"Well...I guess you could say I'm a friend of Shiro's and she told me that she was expecting you. If it's not too much to ask, might I inquire as to why she hired you? Did something happen to her mum?"

Sherlock's ears perked at her last question. Why would this woman, Lena-lee, be concerned for Miss. Phantomhive's mother? Before he could even turn Shiro came walking out of the kitchen at a rather brisk pace and over to their table.

"Have you two decided yet?" She asked rather quickly, as if trying to avoid Lena-lee's question.

Lena-lee frowned at Miss. Phantomhive, but walked back into the kitchen. Sherlock noticed that Shiro had a nervous smile, like she was trying to hide something. When she heard the kitchen door close she sighed and brushed back a loose strand of hair.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, we just don't want anyone to know." Shiro whispered, suddenly looking exhausted.

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, folding up his paper and placing it on the table. "What is that you don't want people know?"

Again, Shiro sighed. "It's a long story. Would you mind if I sat down?"

John shook his head. "No...go right ahead."

Shiro nodded in thanks and seated herself next to Sherlock and John. Before she spoke she let her head fall into her hands.

"Ever since that incident on the swing-set, when I..." She looked around before leaning in close and lowering her voice. "...died, my parents have been getting threats which have escalated over the years. They never told me what they were about because they don't want me to worry, but I think that somehow those threats are connected to my situation. Also since my dad died last year my mum has been getting more and more anxious and over-protective. You wouldn't believe how much convincing it took her to let me visit my aunt in America!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, thinking. That would explain her anxiety, but if her family was being threatened (and she believes that she is the cause of it) why would she still choose to work here? In fact, why even live by herself instead of with her family if she felt threatened? Perhaps because she doesn't want anyone to know that she's afraid?

"Do you have any clue as to who sends your family these threats?" Sherlock asked.

Miss. Phantomhive shook her head. "Unfortunately no, we've no clue as to who would want to hurt us. At first my dad thought that it might be business rivals and even hired a private investigator, but everything turned up blank. I've never seen the letters so I think that if I saw one, just one, I might have a better idea at who sends them."

Sherlock and John glanced at each other, thinking practically the same thing.

"Miss. Phantomhive..." John began. "...do you think that we could possibly see one of these letters?"

Again, Shiro shook her head. "No, whenever we get a new one my mother goes into a hysteria and destroys them without even looking at them."

"How would she know that it was threat without reading the letter?" John asked.

Shiro tensed for a moment and began fiddling with her braid. "The envelope was always sealed with a strange symbol. I was only able to glance at it once but it sort of looked Pagan."

The bell to the door chimed and man in a dark trench coat and hat walked in. Shiro sighed and stood up from her seat.

"I'm terribly sorry but I still am on duty, I'll get back to you after I attend this man."

And with that she put on a smile and walked over to the new customer. They both watched her leave for a moment before they turned to each other and leaned closer.

"A Pagan symbol, could it be for some sort of cult?" John whispered to Sherlock, occasionally glancing over to Shiro.

"It could be that. She said that they started after the incident on the swing-set so someone might have seen it and told someone. Possibly a member of their staff or a visitor. A cult would obviously be interested in her if they knew she could come back from the dead within 24 hours but it could also be a terrorist group-"

Sherlock was cut off by the bell to the door of the Cafe chiming again. Normally Sherlock wouldn't have taken any interest but out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss. Phantomhive leaving with this man, pale as a ghost. Without wasting a second Sherlock sprung up from his chair and walked out of the Cafe, following them. John, confused, hurried after him. John was about to ask but Sherlock shushed him. They followed then man and Shiro about half a block before they both turned into an alley. But before Sherlock and John could make it to the corner of the alley a shot rung through air, along with the stifled scream of a woman. Sherlock and John ran into the alley to see that the man was gone and Shiro was on the ground, a crumbled piece of paper in her hand and blood soaking her shirt. John ran over to her, followed by Sherlock, and knelt down next to Shiro.

"Miss. Phantomhive can you hear me?" John asked frantically.

Shiro could only make chocking sounds as she struggled to breath and pointed behind her, indicating where the man had run to. Sherlock immediately ran down the alley way, turning around a corner only to be met with a dead end. He cursed in his head and ran back to where Shiro and John were, who now had an audience of panicked people. When Sherlock got close enough he saw that Shiro was no longer moving and her eyes were closed, hand limp on the ground. He then looked at John, who looked at him and sadly shook his head.

"She's dead."

Sherlock was again about to curse but then he saw the paper in Shiro's limp hand. She hadn't had that paper earlier, so it must be from the killer. Slowly, Sherlock bent down and took the paper from her hand. He unfolded it and read what it said to himself.

_Mors est illusio_

**Whelp, there's the second chapter! And it only took me 3 hours! My sister will be home from school soon so I better make this quick. Again I would appreciate feedback on how I'm doing do far, also if the summery is interesting (I suck at these things T_T). Reviews are love!**

**Love and yaoi**

_**~ladyknights104**_


	3. Act 3: Mystical Persuasion

**HELLO MY LITTLE KITTENS! I CAN'T STOP SPEAKING WITH A BRITISH ACCENT! Not that I'm complaining, it's not like I have to go out in public today. It's already past 7:00pm so I don't know if I'll be able to publish this chapter today or tomorrow. It also seems that someone has (finally) given me some feedback! Thank you **_**Novoux **_**for your review and I look forward to the hopefully long road ahead in **_**White Roses and Red Rabbits**_**. Actually I was just going to name it White Roses but thought that was cliché and decided to add the red rabbits for irony. Also a part to how Shiro's hair is white and her eyes are red, win/win! Right now I'm listening to "Mental Meta Metal" by Jeff Williams, you know the one from Red vs Blue? I hear that they'll be coming out with an 11****th**** season this year. So I'll be looking forward to Catching Fire, season 11 of Red vs Blue, RWBY, and season 3 of Sherlock! *dies* Wish me luck T_T. Enjoy!**

Act 3: Mystical Persuasion

Sherlock watched as they carried Miss. Phantomhive's body into the ambulance in a body bag. But despite this being a horrible tragedy, it was also absolutely perfect. With this they would be able to tell if the last two times she died and came back wasn't just a strange coincidence. Sherlock locked back down at the paper the man who killed Shiro had left them as the ambulance drove away.

_Mors est illusio_

_Death is an illusion_. What did that mean? This man wasn't acting alone, no; he must be part of some organized group. Judging by the note this group already knew of Miss. Phantomhive's condition, or the man wouldn't have just shot her like that. Another thing probing at Sherlock's mind…how did the man escape? He ran right into a dead end, no windows or staircases leading to the roof, not even a manhole. Sherlock crumpled the paper in his hands and shoved it into his pocket. He turned to John, who was standing right next to him.

"Come along John, we've got some investigating to do."

Sherlock said before turning and walking down the street away from the horde of people. John hurried after him, not sure what Sherlock was up to.

"Sherlock..." John began, catching his breath. "...shouldn't we be heading to the hospital to see Molly?"

Sherlock chuckled slightly and stood on the edge of the sidewalk, attempting to hail a cab.

"Why should we? Perhaps by the time we get there her body will be gone and will already be back at her flat."

The cab pulled in front of them and both men got in. Sherlock took out the piece of paper that had Miss. Phantomhive's number and address and told the driver to go there. It was then John looked at Sherlock, confused as ever. After a few moments of pondering John leaned in close to Sherlock and whispered to him.

"Why are we going to Miss. Phantomhive's flat? She obviously won't be there when we get there seeing how it isn't even noon!"

This caused Sherlock to let out an amused laugh.

"I know, my dear Watson! Isn't it grand? Not even noon and we've already experienced so much!"

John sighed and slumped back into the seat, only now noticing how close he was to Sherlock.

"I wouldn't exactly call watching a poor girl suffocate to death on her own blood grand..."

* * *

It took less than 5 minutes for them to get to Shiro's flat, not surprising seeing how her work wasn't too far away. Her flat was in a large apartment-building which required you to be buzzed in but luckily for them one of the tenants was in a rush and held the door open for them, so they were able to get in with ease. Miss. Phantomhive's flat was on the third floor and kept her key under her mat, which Sherlock was able to find easily because he could tell that the mat was often moved. Her flat was fairly large for one person, but she comes from a wealthy family so she's able to afford such thing. Her flat consisted of a small kitchen, a bedroom, a small guest bedroom, and a living area that was quite...impressive. On the wall it had a large flat-screen TV with a cable box, a VHS, and Blu-Ray DVD player, and an assortment of gaming devises ranging from a Sega Genesis to an X box 360. She had an entire shelf with several DVDs, labeled in different categories and in alphabetic order. Next to a long black couch that can double as a bed was a red mini-fridge with pictures from several different anime's taped to it, one obvious one being Pokemon. She also had several posters from different fandoms taped to her wall, some a little provocative for John's taste.

"So she's an otaku…"

Sherlock said to himself quietly. Believe it or not he knows the different between a nerd and an otaku. London has hosted quite a few conventions and he would often walk by them when they were in town, then again who hasn't? She could practically live in her living room if she wanted to! There was a large window on the side that had quite a nice view of the street but it was halfway covered by a thick black curtain, something Sherlock found amusing. She must also be one of those people who stayed up late playing video games or watching cartoons. But despite the usual gamer stereotype her apartment was very clean. The shelves were dusted, the carpets vacuumed, and not a single dish was in the sink in the kitchen. After observing the living area a little more Sherlock turned and made his way down the hall. The first room he came across was the guest bedroom. It was relatively small but had a double bed, in case she had two guests? There was one dresser and nightstand and they were both made of a worn oak. The sheets on the bed weren't changed that often seeing how no one slept in them but if Sherlock had to guess they were changed at least once a month when she didn't have any guests. The walls were very plain but had a small window with pale blue curtains, probably an effort to put a bit of color in the room. By the looks of it she hasn't had anyone stay over-night with her for quite a while.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock turned around to see John standing him a door, giving him a look similar to what a mother might have when scolding her child.

"You shouldn't be sneaking around someone's flat, she hasn't even been dead for 5 hours!"

Sherlock chuckled at John's modesty. That was something he always found amusing about normal people. But, despite John's protest, Sherlock quickly strode by him and made his way into Miss. Phantomhive's room. Like the rest of the house it was well kept. She wasn't in her own bed yet, like Sherlock had hoped. But they had at least another 12 hours to wait for that. On her walls were several pictures of family members, mostly her and her adoptive parents. They were all of when she was much younger, perhaps 10 to her teenage years. They all looked very professional and despite her parents Shiro wasn't smiling in one of them. She didn't have any siblings, Sherlock was able to tell by these pictures seeing how it was always just her with her parents and no one else. Perhaps that's what drove her parents to adopt her, the inability to have children. He couldn't help but wonder when they told her that she was adopted. It could play a major role in this case. Her bed was relatively small with a deep blue comforter and pale blue pillows. Next to her bed was a wooden nightstand with a lamp and a black digital clock. Next to the window there was a large shelf that was packed with books. Sherlock strode across the room to get a better look at them. The books ranged from classics like 'To Kill a Mockingbird' to newer books like 'The Hunger Games'. She also had a whole two shelves dedicated to different mangas, like Hetalia and D. Grayman. She certainly had interesting tastes. He noticed what looked to be a comic was recently removed from the shelf and slid it out from between to the books to look over it, but quickly closed it put it back at realizing what it really was. He didn't want to sleep tonight anyways. He sighed and looked back at the bed, now noticing something sticking out from underneath it. He walked over to the bed and pulled out a leather photo album. It wasn't that that thick, so there was probably very little in it. He opened the cover and on the first page saw a copy of Miss. Phantomhive's adoption papers. A smile playing on his lips, he slipped the papers out of the sleeve and tossed the album back onto the bed. Miss. Phantomhive had been adopted by Lawlet Phantomhive and Amelia Phantomhive, her parents most likely, when she was only 6 months old. The adoption only took about 4 months and she was adopted from St. Anne's Orphanage which was run by a church. Surprisingly they didn't have the names of her biological parents or where she was born.

"John come take a look at this." Sherlock said, waving him over.

John quickly walked over to him and took the papers from Sherlock, noticing the same thing.

"Well that's odd..." John said, thinking aloud. "We knew her parents died but...do you suppose she was abandoned?"

"I'm not exactly sure. She knows who her aunt is so perhaps she was taken to the orphanage by her aunt. But what I'm curious about is to why she didn't take care of Miss. Phantomhive herself?"

John shrugged. "Maybe she wasn't ready to be a parent? We don't know how old her aunt is so she could have been only a child when her sister had her niece."

Sherlock hummed a bit before taking the paper back from Sherlock and placing it back in the photo album.

"So...what do we do now?" john asked.

Sherlock quickly turned to John and looked at him as if the answer was obvious.

"We wait here until Miss. Phantomhive returns, of course." Sherlock said as he readjusted his scarf and walked past John, making his way into the living room.

John stood there for a moment, as if processing Sherlock's words before turning to the door and walking after Sherlock.

"We wait here, in her flat, until she get's back?" John said, slightly appalled by the idea.

Sherlock turned his head to look at John behind him before turning into the living area and seating himself on the couch.

"What else? Who knows when we'll be able to get back in here if we leave? Plus I'm sure Miss. Phantomhive will understand, she seems to desperately want us to solve her case."

Again, there was that slight pause between them. It was John trying to comprehend the idea of staying in a woman's flat, by whom which they barely knew, until she 'magically' reappeared. He thought about arguing for his point, but in the end he knew he would lose. So, John sighed and seated himself next to Sherlock, crossing his arms.

"Fine, but if she freaks out and calls the police don't be complaining to me!" John said in a frustrated tone.

Sherlock merely chuckled in amusement.

* * *

Sherlock was awoken by a noise coming from the other side of the flat. He groggily opened his eyes and absorbed his surroundings, which were the same as before only it was darker outside. He was in Miss. Phantomhive's living area on the couch next to...Sherlock then felt something warm pressed to his side and shoulder. Once his vision cleared enough he look down and saw that John was slumped against him, sleeping soundly. Sherlock deducted that John must have also fallen asleep and had, dare he say it, _snuggled _up next to Sherlock. Again, there was a soft noise coming from the other side of the flat where Miss. Phantomhive's room was. Sherlock tried to get up off of the couch but he seemed to be trapped by John's body. Sighing, Sherlock shook John's body.

"John...John wake up!" Sherlock whispered almost harshly to John.

John's head shot up and he looked at Sherlock for a few moments before realizing just how close their faces where together. In a sloppy panic John jumped back to the other side of the couch, his breath quickening as he tried to hide the blush on his face.

"Sherlock what the hell-"

He was cut off by Sherlock shushing him and pointing down the hall towards Miss. Phantomhive's bedroom. John nodded his head, knowing what Sherlock was implying. They quietly pushed themselves off of the couch and slowly made their way towards Miss. Phantomhive's bedroom. Her door was only slightly open so you could only see the head of her bed. Sherlock carefully pushed open the door and almost fell over at what he saw. On the bed was Miss. Phantomhive, resting peacefully on the comforter still in her work uniform. Her hair was no longer in a braid and spread out gracefully underneath her, her hands resting on her stomach. Her expression seemed...content. As if she were truly just sleeping soundly. At seeing Miss. Phantomhive's body John took in a quiet gasp before walking over to her bedside, followed by Sherlock. Slowly, as if she would move any moment, he reached forward and pressed his fingers to her neck checking for her pulse. After a few moments John let his hand fall back to his side. He looked at Sherlock and shook his head.

"There's no pulse..."

Sherlock grunted in frustration, perhaps it was too early? No...she had to be alive even if it was just a little bit. She didn't have the same discoloration that corpses tended to have. No, her skin was perfectly tan and her lips a luscious red, like they were when she was alive. After a few minutes of just staring Sherlock noticed that her eyes began to flutter, if only slightly. Astonished, he stepped back from the bedside. Then the tips of her fingers curled, her nose twitched, and her legs moved slightly. Then her eyes suddenly shot open and she quickly sat up, gasping for air. This caused both men to jump out of their skin and back into it. After it seemed that Miss. Phantomhive had caught her breath she noticed that they were there. Slowly, she turned her head towards them and looked at them with wide eyes.

"How the bloody hell did you get into my flat?" She demanded, her voice laced with slight panic.

THUMP. That was the sound of John falling to the floor, fainting.

**Well I better edit this quickly before my dad throws a hissy fit. As always reviews are love!**

**Love and yaoi **

_**~ladyknights104 **_


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